


Bathe Me In Moonlight (Assure Me of Tomorrow)

by OpaqueXApathy



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpaqueXApathy/pseuds/OpaqueXApathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*ON HIATUS* Set somewhere to the end of the first season, Nick's relationship with Juliette has already fallen to pieces and he's moved in with Monroe - their relationship long forged before his and Juliette's break up. But a rarity among Wesen is about to rock both their world and the human world to unprecedented heights and change their relationship forever. Everything shifts to a tenuous, frightening balance - Nick and Monroe face the world together like never before, and one moment may either unite the world... or thrust it into a new state of chaos and war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bathe Me In Moonlight (Assure Me of Tomorrow)

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if the chapters are short to begin with or are spontaneously longer in some parts. I don't know long this story would be but it hit me just last night as I was forced to watch Twilight but again with my younger cousin. To survive the onslaught to my intelligence I started thinking of any pairing, anything I had that would make a better love story than Twilight.... annnnnd this happened.

 

 

_“I don't want to leave.” Nick groaned, smiling as lips ghosted over his neck and a breathy chuckle made his skin tingle with pleasure – hands finding his hips as his lover moved into his embrace, chest to chest, stomach to hips. It was like an aphrodisiac, the Blutbad – inhuman and wholly, beautifully, all his. His boyfriend would contest to the same exact things he was sure._

_“I know.” Monroe shared the groan through a smile of his own, relenting and moving back just a step to regard the police officer in his arms. “I'm so used to having you here. Not sure what I'm going to do with myself.”_

_“I'll call you every night.” Nick assured him, leaning in for a kiss but already he was late and he reluctantly started to pull away._

_“Promise?” Monroe asked, a sparkle in his eyes as he followed him for a few steps as Nick backed towards the door. Nick gave him another kiss and caught one of his hands with his as they finally separated – reaching down for his bag with the other._

_“I promise.” he grinned, recalling certain other late night 'conversations' in the past – before they'd moved in together._

_“C'mere.” Monroe smiled, relenting at last. Nick smile and leaned in for another slow, leisurely kiss – groaning half in protest and in pleasure._

_“Okay! I have to leave. I really have to leave.” he laughed._

_Monroe dropped his hand from Nick's, raising it in goodbye as the Grimm opened the door and headed out for the front porch. “Be safe.”_

_“I will, I will I promise. You too. And if you need anything –”_

_“That's a two way street.” Monroe said, raising an eyebrow at him._

_“It is.” Nick assured him, giving him a last – longing look before turning and heading for his car._

_They'd been practically insatiable for the past two weeks. It made it all that especially hard to leave now, especially right now. Hard to believe as he waved good bye from the driver's side of the car, Monroe briefly taking a hand from the pockets of his jeans from where he stood on the porch to do the same, that he'd only be leaving for three days, minus the driving time._

 

 

Rosalee couldn't exactly say she'd ever seen herself working her brother's shop in Oregon. Then again, at one dark point in her life, she would have never imagined herself free, clean, and away from trouble and drugs. The trouble part had taken a lot more time than the others, even when she'd been well and clear from the rest. But she wouldn't take any of it back. Her brother's death, for certain. But like he'd always said to her in the past – everything happened for a reason. She supposed, with his blessing, she could relent to that. Because now she had a new start, a purpose, and a discovered passion for the apothecary business she now found herself in once more. A certain Blutbad made it all the better. Very strangely, so did a certain Grimm.

The sound of the bell from the front door opening made her smile and she barely glanced up from what she was mixing on the counter. Speaking of a certain Blutbad, without his boyfriend around he'd given her nothing but trouble. Not exactly trouble in the definition of it but she knew with Nick gone he really didn't know what to do with himself. It was touching as much it was amusing. For the first day, he'd just stayed and helped her. The second – she didn't see really anything of him save for a visit in the morning after his yoga. Then he hadn't showed the third. She'd assumed he'd just given in to Nick's absence. Glancing up now, the shop well and closed for the day and night, she quickly did a double take.

To say Monroe looked 'unwell' would be a bit of an understatement. Just forty eight hours ago, he'd looked fine. Now he was pale, looked feverish, and 'strung out'. Or wired, she wasn't sure which. She'd seen a lot of similar faces back in her darker days of drugs and opiates but she'd never pegged Monroe for the type. The Blutbad however were a very different story just not in the form of J or anything else like it. A full moon would do to a Blutbad what J would do for any other Wesen. But Monroe, being a Weider Blutbad, she knew as an apothecary wouldn't be nearly so pulled by its forces. He had a bit more resistance not eating meat alone but his mood stabilizers helped. It didn't appear to be helping him now. The way he looked had her dropping her work and moving around the corner of the counter in a couple quick seconds.

“Monroe?” she asked, shocked. “Are you okay?”

“You have anything for Moon Fever?” he asked instead in somewhat of a rush.

Of course she did and he'd know that. But he wasn't coming near her, back pressed to the door and making no attempt to move from it. His hair looked unkempt and he was practically sweating through his cardigan, Rosalee breathing out her concern and stepping closer.

He woged so fast it startled her, Monroe's face transforming in barely a seconds time – snarling and snapping at the hand she'd reached for him with. Rosalee gave a start and stumbled back a step, staring at him in shock, but when Monroe changed back – looking nearly as startled, she felt a pang of concern and sympathy for the Blutbad. “Monroe you're sick. But I don't think it's Moon Fever.”

“You don't know that.” he said, almost accusingly, reaching for the doorknob behind him. “Just give me something for it and I'll leave.”

Placating, Rosalee raised her hands, “I will. Whatever you're feeling, I'll do my best to try and make you feel better. Just let me just have a look at you and we'll take care of this okay? Together.” she assured him.

But she honestly didn't know what was wrong. She was guessing it could be Moon Fever – an illness that occurred around the full moon when a Blutbad, for whatever reason, didn't partake in their urges in instincts. But it was a full two weeks from one and she'd never heard of it happening so early.

“Okay.” he said, watching her as if she might suddenly attack him. But after a second, he swallowed – his mouth seeming a bit dry as he spoke next. “I can't move.”

“Okay.” she murmured quietly. Slowly, ever so slowly with her hands raised in front of her, she took a step towards him. Sensitivity to physical proximity and touch had to be one of his primary symptoms. The closer she eased, the more he tensed – until he was panting, eyes wide, pressed impossibly close to the door. “It's okay.” she said calmly, averting her eyes to the floor. Eye contact with a Blutbad this keyed up could mean losing something important but with her keen hearing, she wasn't sure if it was helping all that much. Maybe a little.

“Don't –” he started to say and she risked a glance upwards, hearing how strained his voice was.

Rosalee knew she couldn't risk it, withdrawing as she let out a breath. She was itching to check his pulse, his blood pressure, some basic vitals. The work of an apothecary was still very much about herbs and holistic practice but it had modernized in some respects. She needed to know those vital, tell tale signs of whatever distress he was in. She could tell just by looking that his pupils were dilated. “When did this start?” she asked softly.

“I – I don't know when.”

“Can you try to think of when?” she prompted softly.

“Week – week ago yeah that's it. I – I don't know I've just been more edgy I – harder to control things. Almost fell off the wagon. Typical stuff.”

“Monroe it's a full two weeks from the next full moon.”

“I know that!” he snapped, wincing and letting his head fall back against the door with a resounding thump as he shut his eyes tightly. “Sorry, sorry.” he whispered.

“Are your senses heightened?” she continued.

“No, no. Just edgy. It's been getting worse. First I didn't even really notice but how can I not you know? I mean –” he gave a short, humorless laugh, “It's not like being an alcoholic or anything. I mean I fall off the wagon and I eat someone.”

“That didn't happen did it?”

“No! No it hasn't – it hasn't but Rosalee...” Monroe's voice was suddenly pained, opening his eyes to fix her with a hurt expression – so hurt that it made her chest tighten painfully in sympathy. “It hurts. It's so hard. I want – I need it –” He was starting to woge, eyes turning a crimson, and Rosalee quickly, soothingly shushed him.

“Breathe, Monroe. Breathe. Tell me more. Anything else, anything at all.”

Monroe blinked, eyes fading back to normal and she was shocked to see tears suddenly form in his eyes – his expression borderline on sorrow and panic.

“It's not the Moon Fever is it?”

“I don't think so.” she said gently.

“Rosalee I think I'm pregnant. I...” he swallowed down some of his emotions and tried again, “I was sick a few mornings... about a month back. Didn't really gain anything until real suddenly. I'm so pissed off all the time! And – and things were going great, they were going fine but... Rosalee I think I'm dying. Or something. It has to be Nick's. Is it a Grimm thing? They knock you up and even that could be a way to kill you?”

“No.” she assured him, her eyes already dropping to his stomach. He looked a bit heavier around the middle but she honestly couldn't tell or see much under his sweater. A renewed sense of calm had overcome her though and she wasn't nearly so anxious. It was the only thing on the list of rare possibilities that made all the sense. It couldn't be Moon Fever and that could only mean a few other things. This being one of them. “My guess, if you are pregnant, is that … you're a Weider Blutbad but...”

Monroe's head thumped against the door again, “The little tikes inside of me aren't. Oh...” he gave another humorless laugh, “I'm screwed aren't I?”

“Maybe not.” she said, wracking her brain for anything to help in this situation. Not only was it unheard of, a Grim and a Wesson, but hybrids were a bit of a rarity too. Wesson liked to mate within their own kind. Nick and Monroe were breaking all the rules, bending all known laws of everything, and she was left grasping – unsure. “When two Wesen from a different species mate, their offspring sometimes results in a hybrid. In others, some end up taking their father's species or their mother's. You may have a litter. You may have just one or two. They could be Grimm, human, or Blutbad – or a mix of either. Monroe...” she fought a certain amount of exasperation, “You need help. I can help but you need to let me try. This is a very delicate situation.”

“Sweetheart, nothing about me is 'delicate'.” he snorted.

Rosalee rolled her eyes a bit. “Typical... Blutbad bravado. At least that's intact.”

Monroe suddenly groaned, dropping his face into his hands as he slumped further against the door. “I can't take this! I can't take this any more!”

Reaching for the door behind him, he pulled it open and in the middle of woge as he was – the door splintered and was pulled from the frame with a crack of splintering wood.

“Monroe!” she called, chasing him out to the sidewalk – following after him despite her Fuchsbau instincts to stay away from a larger, angry predator and retreat instead. It wasn't natural for them to fight although it was there if they were pushed enough. Monroe's woge was pushing her to stay away, not get closer but she fought that down. She didn't make it far. He was quick but she probably could be a bit quicker. Not on a flat stretch but where it counted, she was sure she could take him. But he was fully woged now and when he darted into a back alley, the darkness and the full force of the rage and power of a Blutbad driven nearly to madness kicked in her self preservation instincts too hard for her to follow him any longer.

Breathing quickly, Rosalee pressed her back against the brick of the building behind her and listened to his fading footsteps – making sure Monroe was well and gone before she could finally push away from the wall and head hastily back into the shop to dial Nick.

 

 

_The moonlight called to him._

_It didn't have to be full to sing in his veins or pull him further into the woods like a heavenly siren call of maddens and pure exhalation. His stomach burned with emptiness and he was high on the rush of the bright, white ball nestled in the sky above him – just a silver now but soon, soon it would be full. He could taste that too and it was glorious. He didn't need anything but the earth beneath his feet, the wind against his face, and the light of the moon upon his skin to truly feel happy. This was pleasure beyond compare, this was his true purpose, and the woods were his true home._

_He owned them._

_They were his and his alone and any one who sought to take those away would happily become his next meal. Nestled in his abdomen, the life he could feel just as keenly as the dirt beneath his bare feet, was a purpose anew. He felt completed by it and..._

_He came to a stop in a clearing, air puffing from his lungs in cold – foggy rushes. And he was missing something. Something important._

_He was missing his mate._

_A deep ache filled him, a face he couldn't place haunted him, and he lifted his head and unleashed a long, mournful cry._

~TBC~


End file.
